


Normalcy

by mewpichu



Series: Tony's Not So Great Day [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Iron Man 3, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Recovery, Sequel, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewpichu/pseuds/mewpichu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve understood. As a World War II veteran, Steve was familiar with trauma. He was familiar with pain and depression and hopelessness. And he knew what Tony really needed right now was a burger and some normalcy, just to get his feet back on the ground.</p>
<p>*Sequel to Slap*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normalcy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all sososososso much for all the kudos on Slap! I'm so glad you liked it!! I feel like I couldn't leave Tony like that, that would just be too mean. So this is kinda a fix-it.
> 
> Non beta-ed. Enjoy!

Melanotan II, Cyclobenzaprine, Imipramine, Selegiline, and Atomoxetine. That was the… personal cocktail floating around in his veins. Biology wasn’t his forte, Tony hated to admit, so he decided to look up each of the chemicals. A common muscle relaxant, a tricyclic antidepressant, a monoamine oxidase inhibitor, and a norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor. He still didn’t understand much of the lingo, but it was enough for Tony to know that he really should be dead right now.

The fog in his head had since lifted and he remembered everything with stark clarity. The SHIELD agent said the mystery man’s name was Caleb Jones. Mr. Jones had taken him, held him captive in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn for three days. Had pumped him up with chemicals to keep him quiet and complacent. These were the facts. But when he was asked by the agents and doctors what exactly Mr. Jones had done to him, no words could come out.

Tony stayed in the hospital for two days before he had to get out. “I’m just sick so sick of this goddamn hospital food,” he said, hiding behind a façade. The doctors wanted to keep him for at least a week, but he’s Tony Stark. And Tony Stark always gets what he wants.

That’s how he found himself in his Chicago house. The house wasn’t even in Chicago. It was a little bit outside the city, surrounded by woods. Trees were good. Trees meant isolation.

He sat on the couch, clutching his orange blanket closer. It was the same blanket he was given three days prior. Through his time in the hospital, he refused to let it go even once. It was irrational, he knew, but he felt weak, vulnerable without it.

Steve understood. As a World War II veteran, Steve was familiar with trauma. He was familiar with pain and depression and hopelessness. And he knew what Tony really needed right now was a burger and some normalcy, just to get his feet back on the ground.

For a house that was barely used, the kitchen was kept very well stocked. Most of the time, Tony liked to keep up the appearance that he was a meat purist, not even spoiling his burgers with a little ketchup. But right now, Steve knew Tony needed the comfort food version. He pulled out a kitchen knife and a cutting board before getting ingredients. He pulled out a ground beef patty, an onion, a tomato, a handful of lettuce, a pickle, a few slices of swiss, and a bottle of ketchup. Steve knew that Tony’s secret guilty pleasure was actually piled high.

As Steve cooked, he snuck peeks at the man on the couch. Tony sat with his knees up to his chest and the shock blanket pulled tight around him. Under the blanket, Steve knew he was wearing layers and layers of cloths. He must’ve been overheating, but every time Steve lowered the thermostat, Tony would throw on another layer. “Better too hot than too cold, right?” he had said in a lighthearted manner.

But Steve was familiar with that fake tone of Tony’s. Although he wasn’t around at the time, Steve knew what happened in Afghanistan. Pepper had made sure of that. He knew how Tony suffered from PTSD from the experience and had worked hard to hide the pain in his voice. Hiding behind humor and jokes might have been enough to trick the mass public, but they weren’t enough to fool those close to him.

Steve flipped the patty. Tony was watching Spongebob. Though Steve didn’t understand the appeal of a talking sponge, he did watch the cartoon on occasion in an attempt to acquaint himself with modern day culture. It was one of the, in Steve’s humble opinion, abnormally _stupid_ episodes. Spongebob was trying to get Gary into the bathtub, but the snail was not having it. But Steve spied on Tony rather than the episode. The man stared at the TV with dead eyes, rarely blinking. No, not dead, Steve corrected. Lost. Pained.

They were the eyes of a man who had been defeated. Knocked to the ground and pushed into the dirt. Steve knew those eyes. They were the eyes of soldiers who’d lost loved ones, soldiers who thought all hope was lost, soldiers who’s spirits were broken. Even worse, they were Bucky’s eyes when he thought Steve wasn’t looking. After the HYDRA facility, after… But thinking of his old friend was bringing up all kinds of emotions that he couldn’t afford to deal with right at this moment. Right now he needed to be there for Tony. He closed his eyes. _Deep breath in, and out, and in, and out._ He needed to keep himself grounded.

Steve quickly plated the food and brought it along with a tall glass of water to the next room. He hesitated for a second when Tony glanced at him with those _eyes_ but quickly regained his composure. The plate made a click as Steve placed it on the glass coffee table. He sat down on the couch next to Tony, his feet flat on the ground, his hands on his knees, and his back ramrod straight. They sat like that for a moment. Steve kept throwing glances at the man next to him, but Tony’s attention was dominated by the cartoon.

“Steve,” he said in a whisper of a voice.

“Hm?”

“Why does Gary need a bath if they live underwater? That makes no sense,” Tony said.

Steve relaxed a little and allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. He responded, “It’s a cartoon, Tony. I’m not quite sure it’s supposed to make sense.”

Tony didn’t respond after that. They watched the credits roll. A new show began, but it was something Steve had never seen before. They sat like that, silent except for the sound of the television, for a few minutes. After a little, Steve raised his hand and placed his hand on the back of Tony’s neck, rubbing into the skin just a bit. Tony leaned into the touch. Steve always offered backrubs after particularly stressful days. He knew it was an easy way to get Tony to relax. Part of the whole returning to normalcy thing, Steve thought.

So Steve rubbed Tony’s back. He could feel the knots even through the shock blanket and worked at them slowly, easing the tension. Steve worked his way down and it appeared that Tony was finally beginning to relax.

Then suddenly, Tony gasped. Except it wasn’t so much a gasp as it was a wheeze. Tony arched away from his touch, losing his balance. His eyes widened as he fell to the floor. It took Steve an instant to realize that Tony was hyperventilating and shaking from head to toe. He hadn’t moved an inch from where he fell and seemed to be focused on something far in the distance. Steve dug his brain for information. Trauma. PTSD. _Panic attack._

Steve reached for the water on the table. He put his other hand behind Tony’s neck to support his head and help him sit up. Steve raised the cup to Tony’s lip, but he was hyperventilating too hard to drink anything.

“Tony, Tony, listen to me,” Steve said, “It’s Steve. You’re with me, at the house outside Chicago. In the woods. Tony, you’re safe, you’re with me.”  
Tony let out another wheeze before he was calm enough to sip at the water. He coughed and the first few tries ended up dripping down his chin. Steve tilted the glass a little more and Tony was able to drink it, just a little at a time.

“Tony, you’re okay. You’re with me. You’re with Steve, Tony,” Steve whispered. Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, they focused on Steve. They sat like that for a while, the forgotten cartoon creating ambient noise.

“’m sorry,” Tony said after a minute.

“There is absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” Steve responded.

They sat like that for what felt like ages, neither of them daring to move. Eventually they both did move so that they sat on the floor next to each other with their backs against the couch. Steve heard Tony take a few deep breaths. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to phrase it. Steve decided to give him as much time as he needed. He was getting so used to the silence again that he was caught off guard when Tony finally started to speak.

“It wasn’t like Afghanistan,” Tony whispered, barely audible.

“What do you mean by that, Tony,” Steve asked.

“In Afghanistan, in the cave, it… I knew it was torture. There was pain. And only pain.”

Tony took a couple more deep breaths while Steve waited patiently for him to continue.

“He touched me there on my back. On my lower back.”

No wonder Tony panicked when his hand reached that spot, Steve thought. It no doubt reminded him of Jones and of what he’d done. But Tony continued.

“There was pain. He hit me and there was pain but I… I…” Tony’s words seemed caught in his throat, like they wanted to escape but something was holding them back. His face started to burn red with stress and his eyes began to water. Tony rubbed together his hands, completely drenched in sweat. Steve recognized it as a nervous tick. Not that Tony had nervous ticks often at all. Tony took two more deep breaths before leaning to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“I liked it,” Tony said as the floodgates flew open. Tears were streaming down his face and his entire body was shaking. He pushed his head into Steve’s shoulder, trying to hide his shame. Steve brought his hand to rest on the back of Tony’s neck. He meant for it to be a calming gesture, something to help Tony through this.

“Shh, it’s okay, Tony,” Steve said softly, “He manipulated you. It was the drugs in your system. They made you feel the way you did.”

“You d-don’t und-underst-stand,” Tony said. He was full on sobbing now, his face twisted into a deeply pained version of his typical carefree self. Steve felt like crying himself at that moment, seeing Tony like this, seeing him in so much pain that it would make him sob. But Steve couldn’t cry. He had to hold it in. He owed it to Tony.

“He g-gave me a cho-choice,” Tony stuttered. This was new information. Steve knew the basics of what had happened, but he didn’t know any details. So he listened intently. Tony let out a few more sobs and burrowed further into Steve’s shoulder before he continued, “I… he… I fu-fucked him.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. He was determined to nip this right in the bud. “No, Tony,” he said softly but sternly, “You did not fuck him, he did not fuck you. He drugged you. He _raped_ you.”

Tony shook his head, “B-but… I enj-joyed it. I f-fucked him an-and I enjoyed it. Y-you pro-proba-ably ha-ha-hate me.”

Steve then wrapped his arms around Tony into a hug. He pulled the sobbing man’s head into the crook of his neck and stroked his upper back.

“Shh shhh Tony, it’s alright. I don’t hate you. You know that. I know that you had no choice. You did what you had to do,” Steve said. His eyes were beginning to water at this point, but hell if he’d let Tony see. He held tightly onto Tony, acting like a human shield that would protect him from anything. His thumb rubbed against Tony’s shoulder blade in reassurance. After a while, Tony began to calm down. His breathing became more regular and no more tears fell from his eyes.

“Steve?” Tony said.

“Hm?”

“If you tell _anyone_ that the great Tony Stark cried like a baby into your arms, I swear…”

Steve let out a little chuckle. He kissed Tony on the top of his head, through his hair.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

They stayed like that, Tony in Steve’s arms on the floor, until Tony eventually fell asleep. 

Steve picked him up, careful not to disturb him, and carried him off to bed, the now cold hamburger forgotten on the coffee table.

**Author's Note:**

> So all of those chemicals at the very beginning are all actual chemicals. I did my research and found a few chemicals that would have disastrous effects when combined with each other. He was probably in ICU for a while before he woke up to safely drain the chemicals out of his system.
> 
> Also, in case anyone was confused, Tony was layering up not only because of the obvious not wanting skin showing/vulnerability after his traumatic experience, but also because he was kept in an abandoned warehouse. The air was probably cold, he had no clothing for warmth, and he spent a lot of the time on a cold concrete floor. It made sense to me that he would seek out as much warmth as he could.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked it! Constructive criticism is always welcome!


End file.
